The Tale of Helen Potter
by The Great Dodecahedron
Summary: AU oneshot. An infant Harry Potter is claimed by an interesting relative. Can you figure out who she is?


I disclaim.

* * *

"Her Majesty's Government and the Ministry of Magic Colonial Affairs Office welcome you to Hong Kong," the young Chinese wizard said in a bored but cultured voice. "Please present proof of your identity to enter the Sai Ying Pun Wizarding District."

The wizened old woman in front of him just pierced him with a scowl from beneath her pith helmet. It was quite penetrating.

"Her Majesty, you say? And which is she? Princess Margaret or Elizabeth?"

Good grief, was she old. The immigration wizard gave her a look. "Queen Elizabeth has ruled over us since long before I was born. I suppose next you'll tell me you've forgotten who the Minister for Magic is?"

The old woman scowled harder. "You ought to respect your elders, especially since you're Chinese. Now let me through." She made an attempt to pass his booth, a levitating trunk following behind her.

"I'm sorry, madam, but there are special regulations in the colonial territories," the wizard said with a practiced air. "You must confirm your identity each time you enter the Hong Kong Wizarding district in Sai Ying Pun. You ought to have been issued identity papers upon your departure from England. Have you lost or forgotten them?"

"I don't have any of your papers," she replied obstinately.

"And when did you enter Hong Kong?"

"I'm entering Hong Kong right now, you silly boy."

The wizard shook his head and thought for a moment. "Madam, when did you leave the United Kingdom? We may be able to confirm the record of your departure with the Ministry."

"The day the War ended."

The wizard frowned at her. "We both know the War ended late this morning. The Wireless is still going on about it, most everyone in the district is out tying one on, and I'm waiting for my shift to end so I can go home and join in. If you've only just left Britain, why didn't you say so? And where did the papers go? Please don't be difficult."

The old woman redoubled the intensity of her glare and pointed a withered finger at his face. "Don't be ridiculous, young man. The War ended when Japan surrendered. That Muggle Minister, Churchill, said so on the wireless. That's the day I left."

The wizard blinked. "Japan... isn't that a country near here? Who would they surrender to, and why on earth would they do something like that? They've got nothing to do with You-Know-Who."

"I don't-know-who," the old woman said. "Stop wasting my time. I wish to go home, and you are standing in my way!"

She tried to go through the gate attached to the wizard's booth, but magical chains suddenly stretched across it, preventing her from swinging it open.

The young wizard had his head in his hands. "I'm sorry, madam. We seem to be suffering from some misunderstanding on both sides."

"You don't understand anything at all, is more like it," the old woman muttered. "How you ever graduated Hogwarts I'll never know. If you even got a proper English education."

He ignored the insult. "Let's just start over. Good afternoon, and welcome to the Sai Ying Pun Wizarding District. Madam, what is your name?"

She lightened up somewhat. "That is the first useful thing you've asked of me. Young man, my name is Helen B. Potter. What is yours?"

"My name is Tsang, Madam Potter. Very good. One moment, please." The wizard searched through his records. "Madam Potter, we have no record of anyone bearing your name being in Hong Kong. Can you give me the details of your itinerary leaving England?"

"I haven't yet been to Hong Kong. I left London on August 15, 1945, flying to Rangoon via Venice, Byzantium, Jerusalem, and Bombay."

"Flying on a broom's dangerous compared to International Portkey— did you say 1945?" Tsang almost dropped the quill he was using to write this down.

"You heard what I said, young man."

"Now I understand which war you meant. Grindelwald's War... good grief! What was the purpose of your trip?" he asked weakly.

"I travelled to Indochina in 'forty-five for a research expedition on behalf of the English Supernaturalist Society. Though there have been... some delays, I have concluded my work and now wish to return home. Having learned that Hong Kong is the only remaining colonial territory in the region, I came here to begin my trip to London."

The immigration wizard digested that briefly. "One moment, please. I must wire the London office."

He pulled out a small bar with a round knob on the end. It was a telegraph key with no wires attached. Pressing down on it in rapid patterns, he muttered the message he was trying to send in Morse code.

"SAI YING PUN MAIN GATE HONG KONG TO MINISTRY MAGIC LONDON CENTRAL STOP IMMIGRATION INQUIRY FOR HELEN B POTTER BORN..." he turned to Helen. "If I may ask, madam, when were you born?"

"28th July 1866," she informed him archly.

"Strewth. ...TWENTY EIGHTH JULY EIGHTEEN SIXTY SIX REPLY SOONEST FULL STOP."

Tsang put down the key and cracked his knuckles. Morse code was hard work, but in a modern society nearing the end of the twentieth century, advanced communications methods like the Wizarding Wired were a prerequisite for civilization.

The reply telegram came quickly. He translated the dots and dashes as he heard them with the speed born of experience. "OSCATCHPOLE SWITCHER TO SAIYINGPUNGATE STOP CENTRAL UNAVAILABLE STOP ALL LONDON ON HOLIDAY ON ACCT VCTRY FULL STOP."

It was much shorter than his original message. The switcher, whoever he or she was, had telegraphese down cold.

More beeping. "OSCATCHPOLE TO SAIYINGPUNGATE STOP IF YOU ASK ME GO OUT GET STNKNG PSSD AND RETURN MONDAY FULL STOP."

"Should've expected that," he muttered in resigned annoyance. "With the Dark Lord dead and gone, all of England's probably gone home to make merry. To be honest, I'm surprised the Ottery St. Catchpole station is even open for business."

He gave a long sigh. "We'll have no help from the Ministry today, and probably most of the rest of the week. The rest of the year, even, given the duffers who work in London. However, I think I can still help you. Let's go to the local branch of Gringotts. If the goblins can tell me who you are, it's as good as official."

He opened the gate, stepped out of the booth and locked Helen's trunk in his booth for safekeeping. "After you."

"Well, at least you remembered your courtesy in the end," Helen said grudgingly. "Very well, let's go off to visit the bank."

Tsang hung a sign over the gate reading "Gate Closed— Please Use Sai Ying Pun South" and led her through the empty streets to Gringotts Hong Kong.

"No-one else is liable to be passing through the gate today," he muttered.

* * *

"Credentials problems?" the goblin at the teller's desk grumbled. "Those aren't our business."

"You know the war just ended," Tsang told him. "It's the Ministry's responsibility, and I'd bet good money that nearly every man or woman in the Ministry is dead drunk right now, or trying his or her best to be."

Goblins were rude but not unreasonable. There weren't any other customers at Gringotts Hong Kong at the moment, so it wouldn't cost too much of his time to take care of it. "Fine, but I'm not spending more than ten minutes on this. We may also charge a fee. Madam, whom do you say you are?"

"Helen B. Potter."

"Potter, eh? Do you claim to be of the pure-blood Potter family?"

Helen nodded proudly. "Indeed I do."

The goblin crossed his arms. "You should know that the Potters do business with Gringotts. If we find that you can access the Potter account, then you're a Potter. Problem solved."

With a little bit of goblin-magic, the teller summoned a sheet of parchment and scrutinised it. "Yes, there is a Helen B. Potter listed as a holder of the Potter account. Well, there was. This report says she's dead."

"I've been in Indochina for thirty-six years," Helen sighed. "I guess they just drew the simplest conclusion."

He handed a yellowed slip of paper to Helen. "We'll see about that. Make this cheque out to yourself, write down whatever amount of money you want, and sign it. Think of it as a withdrawal."

The cheque was printed with her name and the Potter family arms. Those arms were quite simple- the Potter family was wealthy, but it wasn't very powerful for a Wizarding house. Helen did as the goblin asked.

The goblin took the cheque back and examined it closely. He waved his hand over it, and suddenly a tall stack of golden coins appeared on the desk in front of him.

"The cheque is valid," he said with some surprise. "It seems you aren't dead any longer, Madam Potter. Welcome back to the world of the living. Do you want to manage your family account? As of right now, you're the main account holder. We have only one other living Potter on record."

Helen blinked. A lot must have changed in the world if she was the one in charge of all the Potter money now. "Well... I'm on my way back to England. I'll check in at your London branch to see how things are doing. The vault's over there, in any case."

"Sure," the goblin said, "no big deal."

"Incidentally, how much does a Portkey to London cost?"

Tsang sucked at his teeth for a moment. "I think the going rate is fifty Galleons."

Helen thought about that. "I guess that's reasonable. An international Portkey would save you weeks of travel. I'll withdraw some more money, if you please."

"Very well." The goblin had her sign a withdrawal slip, then made the money appear on the desk. "Twenty Galleons from the first withdrawal and forty from the second makes it sixty Galleons all told. I imagine you'll look at your full statement when you arrive at London. Is our business finished?"

Helen nodded brusquely. "Yes, it is. Good day to you."

"And to you. Thank you for banking with Gringotts." The goblin swept the pile of glittering gold coins into a small sack and handed it to her. They exchanged short nods, then Helen and her escort left.

She raised an eyebrow at Tsang as they walked down the streets of Sai Ying Pun. "'Thank you for banking with Gringotts?' Really?"

He shrugged. "A few years ago, they required all the tellers to use that phrase. Something about customer service."

"My."

"Let's return to the gate so I can sign you in properly."

* * *

A few minutes later, Helen had a freshly-written packet of credentials and her luggage back. Bidding Tsang farewell, she went off in search of a Portkey vendor.

There it was. "The Trans-Continental Portkey Company," the sign above the building read.

There was a long queue of travellers behind the front desk. "Special London rate, ten Galleon discount!" the doorman told her. "If you'd like to return to England on account of war's over, madam, now's the best time."

"Indeed, that's what I'm doing," Helen answered him.

"Very good, madam. Please join the queue."

This being Hong Kong, there was a mix of Chinese and English people waiting to travel to London. The background chatter was also both in English and Cantonese, with a little Mandarin.

Helen found that the young Chinese family in front of her spoke perfect English— with somewhat of a Scottish accent, in fact.

"I went to Hogwarts," the mother told her, cradling a toddler in her arms, "and was sorted into Gryffindor. Since I still mostly spoke Mandarin, I learned English from Professor McGonagall, who still teaches there."

The father nodded. "As for me, I met my wife because I needed someone to help improve my English. I'm Kao-Ping Chang," he said, shaking hands with her. "This is my wife, Eglantine, and our daughter Cho."

"No," Cho Chang remarked. At her age, that word had a wide and subtle range of meaning.

Helen, smiling, lightly brushed her cheek. "Aren't you a dear little one."

Cho made a face.

Helen and the Changs continued their conversation as they waited to purchase their Portkeys. She found out that they'd retreated to Hong Kong on account of whatever war had just ended, and now were returning to their home in London. Kao-Ping ran a small Wizarding law firm and was hoping to go back into practice.

"Do you also have a job waiting for you back in England?" Eglantine asked. "You look like a professional, although I can't think of which profession you have."

"I'm a research herbologist. I was on a field expedition for the Supernaturalist Society, studying magical wildlife."

"Oh, how wonderful! I have fond memories of taking the Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology classes at Hogwarts," Eglantine said enthusiastically. "Have you found any interesting specimens?"

"My trunk is stuffed to bursting with them," Helen told her conspiratorially.

"That's lovely! I do hope you put together an exhibition sometime," Eglantine said. "I'd love to see what you've discovered, and I'm sure the rest of the Wizarding public would, too."

"What do you plan to do once you've returned?" Kao-Ping asked.

"Connect with the rest of the family and see what has happened in England in my absence," Helen told him.

"Oh? Are you a member of one of the old English magical families?" he inquired politely.

"That I am: the House of Potter."

"Potter!" Eglantine said thoughtfully. "I've heard that name recently, but I can't remember where..."

"That poor boy! His name was Potter!" Kao-Ping suddenly remembered.

"Boy?" Helen asked.

Kao-Ping nodded. "The war's ended because You-Know-Who was defeated. He used the Killing Curse on a family early this morning and all of them died except for the child, a boy named Harry Potter. The Curse somehow rebounded and killed You-Know-Who instead. The newspapers are calling Harry the Boy Who Lived."

Helen considered that. "I still don't-know-who... can't say I know of a Harry in my family, either. Do you know his parents' names?"

Kao-Ping dug a wrinkled copy of the Dou Si Po out of his briefcase. "You-Know-Who was a dark wizard who started the war. No-one wants to talk about him. As for the parents, I have the paper. Er, it says here... James and Lily Potter, both twenty-one years old."

"Then they were born fifteen years after I left England," Helen mused, juggling the numbers in her head. "I honestly don't know if they're of my family. That's something to find out when I arrive. I wouldn't like to think I'd become some kind of celebrity, so please keep this quiet."

Kao-Ping and Eglantine nodded. "No problem."

They reached the front of the line. The cashier at the front desk asked if they were traveling together.

"Why don't we?" Eglantine offered.

Helen agreed.

The price paid, the cashier handed Kao-Ping a long enchanted ribbon and several bottles. "Globe Trotter Potions to bring you to London time. You may return the ribbon and empty bottles at the London office for a one-Sickle refund. The trigger word is 'Thames.' London time is now just about half past six in the morning, November first, 1981. It is recommended that you have a good solid breakfast when you arrive to help deal with the time difference."

He directed them to an open spot to the left of the front desk. The four of them gathered there and each took hold of the ribbon, also making sure to loop it around the handles on their luggage. Eglantine was careful to make sure Cho's little fist was closed around it as well.

"Ready?" Kao-Ping asked.

"Ready," the others said.

"Thames," they chorused

* * *

Diagon Alley was bedlam.

Wizards and witches were running up and down the cramped alley shooting fireworks out of the tips of their wands. The sun only just rising in the time zone containing London, these fireworks lit up the entire Alley. There was shouting, cheering, and even a few explosions. The sounds and smells of a street party that had gone on all night filled the air. Someone had commandeered a bell-tower and was apparently trying his or her hardest to put the clapper straight through the bell. Helen hadn't heard the church-bells peal like that since the day she'd left England. That had been the end of a war as well.

"Hey, there, where you from?" a drunken wizard slurred. "Alla way from Chiner?"

"Hong Kong," Helen told him crisply.

"Well, then! Prop'rly British China, eh? Welcome back!" the wizard said. "Iffen you'll exshuse me, gots some more drinking ter do..."

He gave a clumsy kiss on the forehead to Cho, who looked to be on the verge of tears from the Portkeying and the general chaos around her, and staggered off.

"If you don't mind my asking," Kao-Ping said, "where will you be going now? You've mentioned that you haven't been in England for decades. If you need a place to stay while all this is sorted out, just let us know."

"Potter House ought to still be standing," Helen decided. She downed her potion and gave the bottle to Kao-Ping. "I don't know what's happened since 1945, though. If the Gringotts goblins tell me I don't have a place to live anymore, I just might have to take you up on that offer."

"We'll see, then," Kao-Ping said. "No matter what happens, you can call on us at 17K Diagon Alley anytime."

"17K," Helen echoed. "Perhaps I'll drop by and visit sometime. I could bring some of my more interesting specimens."

"We'd love to see them," Eglantine smiled.

After some brief goodbyes, they went their separate ways. Helen refreshed the levitation spells on her luggage and set out for Gringotts London, visible just up the street.

With the chaos in Diagon Alley, it took her a good ten minutes to make it through the great doorway of the bank. The interior was almost completely deserted; people had better things to do than banking, and besides it was early in the morning. A single goblin teller was on duty, and he raised a thick eyebrow at her.

"And who're you? Go back out and have your party; we're enjoying the peace and quiet."

"Helen B. Potter," she told him. "I'm here on account of the Potter holdings."

"Potter? Ah, yes, the lady lost in the jungle. We've been expecting your arrival; Hong Kong branch warned us about you. Well, come here."

The teller handed her a small simple wooden box. "You know what this is. We pulled it out because we knew you were coming. Go to it."

Vault keys were stored in boxes that would open only for bank staff and account holders. Helen had opened this particular box many times before in her life. She lightly touched an inconspicuous spot next to the hinges and laid her hand on top of the box. There was a soft click and it swung open, revealing the Potter vault key inside.

"Good thing you got here when you did, Mrs. Potter," the goblin remarked, picking up the key. "Headmaster Dumbledore was to assume trusteeship of the account this afternoon. We'd have had to hand the key over to him instead."

Helen blinked. "Please explain."

"Well... until about an hour ago, Harry James Potter was the only living member of the Potter family. The battle at Godric's Hollow should have eradicated the family altogether, but he survived- and then you showed up. Now, seeing as young Harry's barely even old enough to say his own name, he couldn't very well run the account himself. The Headmaster sent us a letter saying that he'd taken charge of Master Potter's welfare, so if we would be so kind could we please hand the key over to him until such time as Master Potter reached adulthood. Now that you're here, though, control returns to you. I think you must be happy about that."

"'Headmaster Dumbledore,' indeed..." Helen mused. "I suppose he was bound to take the post someday."

"Whatever," the goblin said. "He seems to be doing a good enough job of it."

Helen paused. "You do mean Albus, though? If it were Aberforth, well, goodness me..."

"Albus it is," the goblin assured her. "He's Supreme Mugwump now, too."

"Young Albus," Helen said nostalgically. "I remember having him one term I filled in as Herbology professor..."

"And here's your statement," the teller said, pulling them back on topic and placing a sheet of parchment on the table. "I went and looked back in the ledgers; you'll be pleased to find that the family fortune has grown by about forty percent since you left Britain. The fact that lately there have been so few Potters to spend it may have something to do with that, though."

Helen scanned the statement. "Monetary holdings look good, I see we have some Muggle shares now, property..."

She sighed in relief. "We still own Potter House."

"Last I heard, it was in quite a state," the goblin told her. "It hasn't been inhabited since the sixties, and the neighbours say the roof has collapsed. James and Lily Potter lived in a cottage up in Godric's Hollow instead. There, on line 16-C..."

"Two people died there," Helen said, "so that's out of the question. I see we don't have any holdings in London at the moment. Tell me, is there property available here for purchase?"

The goblin grinned. "Acquisitions, eh? As it happens, a good chunk of the Alley's in foreclosure thanks to the war. I'll have some deeds brought up."

While they waited for the paperwork to arrive, something else occurred to Helen.

"Tell me about young Master Harry," she asked the goblin. "What's his lineage?"

The goblin slid a diagram-covered parchment out of his portfolio and started rattling off genealogical data. "Harry James Potter, half-blood, born 1980. Parents, James Potter and Lily Evans, Muggle-born. James Potter, pure-blood, born 1960. Parents, Charlus Potter and Dorea Black, of the House of Black. Charlus Potter, pure-blood, born 1908. Parents, Walter Potter and Ida Higginbotham, of the Devonshire Higginbothams. Walter Bertram Potter, pure-blood, born 1872. Parents, Rupert Potter and Helen Leech—"

"My brother Bertie, yes," Helen interrupted. "So that's where this branch of the family came from. My great-great-nephew... imagine that!"

"Perhaps you should take this more seriously. Your great-great-nephew defeated the Dark Lord," the goblin reminded her.

Helen rolled her eyes. "My great-great-nephew, still in nappies and a halfblood? He's not defeating anyone. Still, as I'm his sole remaining family, young Harry is my responsibility now. Heavens, I've never had to raise a child of my own before; my husband William and I, we never had any... Where is Harry, do you know?"

"Likely in the hands of Headmaster Dumbledore," the goblin told her. "Took charge of the whole affair, he did."

"I shall go to see him directly, then," Helen replied. "Ah, the deeds are here..."

She flipped through the properties available for purchase at Diagon Alley and paused, remembering what Kao-Ping had said. "Number Nineteen, here- does it adjoin Number Seventeen? Never could figure out how the numbering worked in the Alley."

The goblin nodded.

"Well, then, I'll purchase the entire building. Can I afford that?"

The goblin blinked. "Yes, you've got enough immediately available funds to buy one building, possibly two. But I didn't think you'd be such a fiend for the real estate."

"I don't have a place to live," Helen told him. "I donated all my Muggle holdings to the Muggle National Trust when I left England. The Potters need new property. If I own an entire building, I can take tenants and either run a shop on the first floor or be landlord to one. Given the end of the war and all that entails, I'd even buy several buildings in the Alley if I could, come to think of it."

The goblin's eyes widened. "You're sharp for an old lady."

She waved a finger at him. "I've just spent thirty-six years in the jungles of Indochina, goblin. At my age, it's either be sharp or be flat- on one's back in a coffin. Now handle the purchase of Number Nineteen, if you please. I'm off to see Albus."

The goblin passed her a sheet of paper. "Sign here and you can go. We'll have your luggage delivered there. In the meantime I will see about acquiring additional properties for you on the Alley. I do love a good land grab. I'll try to Floo you if anything comes up... you'll be at Hogwarts?"

"Yes, that is correct." Helen signed the paper and left the goblin to his money-making. She went up to one of the Gringotts fireplaces. After exclaiming at the unusual new Floo powder formula they were using these days, Helen threw some into the fireplace and traveled to Hogsmeade.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore quirked an eyebrow. According to the complicated instruments in his office, someone with faculty credentials was standing at the front gate. Credentials that hadn't been used in decades. This on top of everything else meant it was shaping up to be a very unusual day indeed, and he hadn't even had his morning coffee yet. Well, he had a little time before Minerva would return with the first report on young Harry and the Dursleys, so he'd go down and meet the mystery visitor personally. A pleasant walk to start the morning.

The light of dawn seeped through the windows as he walked down the many flights of stairs from his office. A Hufflepuff third-year, on the Quidditch squad if he remembered right, flagged him down as he descended the great staircase in the Entrance Hall.

"Please, Headmaster," the Hufflepuff asked. "Is the war really over? We've heard nothing but rumours all night."

"Indeed, young lady," he told her with a twinkle in his eye. "There is peace in England this Sunday morning, and this calls for some celebration. I do believe I will be sending everyone out to Hogsmeade today, but not until after lunch. You should get some sleep."

The third-year nodded blearily and headed back to her common room. Dumbledore was betting that the entire school would know what he'd said within ten minutes. The existence of an efficient rumor mill made his job so much easier. He'd have to Floo the Three Broomsticks and make sure they would be open, but that could wait. His oddly-credentialled guest came first.

That guest came into view as he neared the gate. Dumbledore frowned, nearly imperceptibly. Whoever this elderly woman was, he wasn't sure he'd ever met her.

"May I help you, madam?" he called out.

"Albus Dumbledore, you've grown quite a beard in your old age," the woman replied. "I recall your chin was smooth as anything when you were in my Herbology class."

"Herbology-" Dumbledore quickly took stock of the Herbology teachers he could remember having. "My word, you're not saying you're-"

She nodded firmly. "Helen Potter. I'm here on account of Master Harry."

Dumbledore frowned. "Helen Potter vanished into the Vietnamese jungle forty years ago. You can't possibly claim to be her."

"Thirty-six years, and it was Indochina, not this 'Vietnam' you mention," she corrected him. "My research expedition is over and I'm back."

"On the contrary, the country is called Vietnam now," Dumbledore replied. "But we'll discuss the rest in my office."

There was a seldom-used brazier built into the entrance gate, enchanted such that only Headmasters could light it. Dumbledore ignited it and tossed in a pinch of Floo powder. "I hereby grant one passage to one guest for travel to my office."

He turned to Helen. "After you."

She stepped into the green flames.

* * *

Dumbledore sat down behind his desk and steepled his fingers. "I'm afraid that due to the war situation, I'll have to ask you to provide proof that you are indeed Professor Emeritus Helen Potter."

Helen placed several items on the desk: a wand, a key, a ring.

Dumbledore picked up the wand and examined it. "Maple, dragon heartstring, twelve inches, Ollivander XVII grip... flexible." He pulled out a leather-bound record book and looked inside. "Yes, this is the right wand. Wave it about, please?"

She produced a spray of blue sparks.

"Excellent." Dumbledore tapped the key with his own wand and squinted at it. "The Potter vault key. Funny that I should see it here..."

"Yes, I was told at Gringotts that it was to be entrusted to you this afternoon. That shall no longer be necessary."

Dumbledore waved it off. "Good news for all concerned, I'm sure. Now, this... a Hogwarts faculty ring! Oh, my, they don't do these anymore."

He Banished it into the fireplace, then Summoned it back. Thin red letters glowed in the inside of the ring.

"POTTER HELEN B. FACULTY No. 213." This was followed by a few symbols.

Dumbledore looked in the record book again. "Yes, this is authentic." He slipped the ring on his finger. It immediately popped off and rolled around on the table, making a keening noise.

"If you would, madam?"

Helen picked up the ring and put it on. This time it stayed on, quieting down.

"One last thing," Dumbledore said. "If you would place your right hand on this parchment?" He lay a sheet on the desk.

Helen put her hand down. When she lifted it, five red fingerprints remained. Dumbledore compared them with the record book.

"Everything seems to be in order," he muttered, placing the parchment atop a stack of papers. "Those are all the identifying methods I had."

He sat back and smiled, finally allowing a twinkle to appear in his eye. "Welcome back, Professor Emeritus. Well, then, what can I do for you?"

"Young Harry," Helen told him.

"I should have known. Your... great-great nephew, isn't that right? I'll want to reclaim him from the Dursley family?"

Helen frowned. "Who?"

"A Muggle family, the only relatives he had left."

She paled. "Muggles?!"

Dumbledore raised his hands. "Until you appeared, they were the closest family Harry had. I made the decision to leave him with them based on what I knew. It's... yes, it's well and proper that you assume custody."

"As soon as possible," Helen said firmly.

"It shall happen presently." Dumbledore raised his wand and summoned his Patronus. "Tell Minerva to bring Harry Potter to Hogwarts immediately." The ghostly phoenix nodded and flew off through the wall.

"Patroni as messengers?" Helen asked.

"A method we developed during the war, inspired by Muggle wireless; it has served us well." He lifted a kettle. "You may have to wait a few minutes. Tea?"

"Please."

* * *

Professor McGonagall burst through the doors a few minutes later, a sleeping baby in her arms. "Headmaster! Has something happened?"

"It's good news," he told her. "Quite the fortunate coincidence, you'll find. Did you have any trouble with the Dursleys?"

"The morning milk delivery has yet to come round, so nobody opened the door. The Dursleys won't have known that anyone was on their doorstep at all. Who's this?"

Dumbledore made the introductions. "Professor Emeritus Helen B. Potter, meet Professor Minerva McGonagall, Transfiguration instructor and head of Gryffindor House."

With the child in her arms, McGonagall couldn't shake hands, so she just nodded.

Helen Potter nodded back. "Professor. I'm Ravenclaw, class of 1883. I've also taught Herbology here from time to time. Young Harry's great-grandfather Bertram was my brother, so I'm here to take him in."

"She's confirmed her identity to my satisfaction," Dumbledore assured McGonagall.

McGonagall hesitated, then held Harry out to Helen. She picked him up and had a good look at him.

"He looks nothing like Bertie," she remarked.

"It's been three generations," Dumbledore pointed out.

Helen brushed at Harry's hair, revealing a scar still swollen and red. "And this here... yes, no mistaking it. A Dark magic injury. The Killing Curse, must be the one that hit him last night."

"You've seen this before?" Dumbledore asked, surprised.

Helen closed her eyes. "I've spent thirty-six years in the jungle, during which there was a war. Two wars, even. Some of the local magical population got involved on both sides, and a lot of ugly things happened. This thunderbolt mark in particular I've seen before. A friend of mine in the ARVN Zouaves-Magiques cast a Killing Curse at a Viet Cong soldier- don't look at me like that, it was war. Well, he didn't know his target was an Inferius and so the Curse only knocked it down. One can't kill what's already dead, after all. After he and I cut it down with machetes, we found this exact mark on its chest where the Curse had hit."

She looked up at Dumbledore. "Harry's no Inferius, I assume."

"Certainly he's shown no sign of that," Dumbledore assured her hastily.

"Good. Thank you for your time, Headmaster, Professor; I shall be going now. If you should need to contact me, I am moving into Nineteen Diagon Alley today. In particular, if a faculty position opens up at Hogwarts, do please keep me in consideration. Good day."

She nodded to both of them and departed.

McGonagall shut the door behind her. "That was interesting," she said. "I hope Harry will be all right."

Dumbledore chuckled. "If nothing else, he's sure to get high marks in Herbology when he enrolls here. I remember more about Professor Potter now. She knew her plants from a to zed."

"I'm not sure I trust her entirely, though..." McGonagall sighed.

"It's vanishingly unlikely that she has sympathies for the Death Eater cause. You know, she lived in the Muggle world with her husband, a Squib, for a good number of years, and gained some degree of fame. And from the things she's done there, I suspect she'll be good with children."

"How so?" McGonagall asked.

Dumbledore looked in the record book, wrote something on a scrap of paper, and handed it to her. "The next time you're in London, go to a Muggle library and read these books. This first one's a collection of illustrations. She happened to be a Muggle-style fungus Herbologist, a 'mycologist.' However, you may be more interested in these other titles, perhaps you've read them-"

McGonagall's eyes widened. "Wait, isn't this- Is she- Her middle name-"

"Precisely."

"I do believe I shall have to ask her autograph! ...for my great-nieces, of course."

"Of course, Minerva."

* * *

By lunchtime, Helen Potter found herself in a dusty but well-furnished apartment at Nineteen Diagon Alley. Harry was lying in a crib, fitfully sucking his thumb while she pulled specimens out of her trunk and organized them. The remains of a light meal rested on a table, provided by her newly acquired house-elf.

She held up a bottle containing a vivid blue mushroom and tapped the glass affectionately. "Took me a lot of trouble to collect you. Believe you me I'm culturing your spores as soon as I can."

A cry from the crib caught her attention. Harry was sitting up. She shelved the bottle and turned to her ward. "Are you wanting more porridge, child?"

She proffered him a bowl but he turned away, cries graduating into incoherent wails. Helen thought she could make out the syllable "ma."

"Well, then," she sighed, and picked him up. Rocking him in her arms seemed to help a little, but he didn't stop crying entirely.

"No? What if I tell you a story? I wrote it myself."

She shifted Harry into a one-armed grip and pulled a book out of the trunk.

"I do wonder if your parents told you this story. It was quite well-known in the Forties so they'd have had it read to them, I think. Look at the book, child. Heavens, no, don't reach for the machete. Sharp! See the book? See the bunny on the cover? That's my Peter! Look! I'll tell you all about him."

Harry Potter quieted down as Helen recounted the tale of Peter Rabbit and his misadventures.

Outside, her new house-elf screwed a new nameplate into the front door. On it was etched the name "Helen Beatrix Potter."

* * *

Endnote: (Helen) Beatrix Potter, 1866-1943. Children's author and amateur mycologist. Unfortunately, public opinion of the time did not allow women to be professional scientists so, prevented from publishing papers on the germination of fungi, she gave us Peter Rabbit instead.

In this story, Beatrix Potter is secretly a witch who goes by Helen in the Wizarding World. Widowed, she withdrew from Muggle life during the Second World War and went on a long expedition to the Vietnamese jungle, made even longer by war with the French (Indochina War) and, after partition, with the United States (Vietnam War). Wouldn't she be an interesting person to raise Harry Potter? I saw the identical surnames and went from there.


End file.
